


Strung up tight and barely breathing

by Ladyboo



Series: Stardust and Vulcan Sands [5]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self-Esteem Issues, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Starfleet Academy, Winona Kirk's A+ parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyboo/pseuds/Ladyboo
Summary: His mother had taught him to be kind, to smile and to always,alwayschoose his words carefully. Words were wonderful, precious, magical things. Yeah, alright. Words, just like people, were full of shit, and Jim was just-he was tired at this point, so damn tired, and he didn't evenwantto hear his words. He just wanted to read his book and finish his shift in peace.





	Strung up tight and barely breathing

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is me, ignoring the start of a second chapter I have for Messiah staring at me from the task bar on my laptop. This is me, irritating my beta by giving her something new to work on, instead of a second chapter like I said I would. But! There is a second chapter coming, and this has been sitting lonely and forgotten in a folder on my laptop for months now, so I figured I should at least let it see the light of day?  
> Regardless, hello my lovelies, enjoy~

Words were beautiful, wonderful things.

They brought people together, changed lives and ended wars. They were breathtaking, mesmerizing things that encompassed entire relationships in a single sentence, and they were spoken in a quiet hush to wide eyed children who knew no better. Words were precious, words were sacred, and words were to be treasured; these were the things that they were taught when they were little, with black soul ink on their skin and a wide sort of wonder in their eyes.

Jim knew better.

Words were painful, words hurt, and words could cut deep in a way that nothing else ever could.

He had seen the pain of what happened when somebody lost their soulmate and knew all too well that desolate look in his mother’s eyes. Worse yet, he recognized the pity in hers whenever she looked at him and remembered, and he didn’t know which was worse: a mother who didn’t see him, or a mother who knew that nobody would ever love him.

Just the same, he knew what it was like to have a soulmate that didn’t want you; knew what it was like to have a second half who thought so little of you that they hated you altogether. He hadn’t understood it when he was a child, when his mother told him not to look at the words, not to read them or speak them.

‘ _You’re not supposed to read them, Jimmy_ ,’

Her way of protecting him, but he had learned better one afternoon when Sam had felt particularly spiteful, shouting in a hateful slur that nobody would ever love him, even his soulmate didn’t want him.

He had read the words then, a clean, precise scrawl on the left side of his ribcage, down low over the bottom curve of it where his side was soft and his child’s belly curved. And he cried, because he shouldn’t have read them, he shouldn’t have looked, not when the words were hurtful and harmful; not when he didn’t understand why someone who was supposed to be everything seemed to think that he was nothing.

Words were nothing but pain, nothing but anguish and tarnished self-esteem until it felt like he had nothing left to give. They were long nights with bloodshot eyes and too much whiskey on his breath, and they were mornings when he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror. Words were supposed to be love, they were meant to be helpful and hopeful, earnest and kind.

But Jim didn’t want his words, or his soulmate or anything like that.

At this point, he just wanted to be free.

-

The winter holidays had come and gone two weeks prior, and Jim had rattled through them with an excess of coffee on his breath and a thrum beneath his skin. The same sort of jitters that he always felt this time of year, when his skin was too tight and his head wouldn’t go quiet, not even for an instant. There were no comm calls from his mother and so, instead, Jim rounded out the holiday with the familiar comfort of his bed and the sounds of Bones stomping around on the other side of their apartment.

January 4th though, was a specific, special kind of hell incarnate.

Fingers smoothing down the sleeves of his crisp, lavender button down, Jim rocked faintly where he stood. Around him, the library was relatively quiet; the idle hum of subdued chatter was mostly muffled by the rows upon rows of books that hid the other students from view. The quiet was welcomed though, a fine respite from the crowd that had begun to gather on the far side of campus for the memorial service.

Hands falling to the desk before him, settling into the routine of sifting through the PADDs that were spread out haphazardly on the shared surface, Jim let loose a long suffering sigh that felt all too familiar. Gary was a slob, always had been and always would be, such was a lesson that he had learned the hard way, by working the same shift as him once or twice. The library was supposed to be quiet, the resource assistant was supposed to have a clean desk, and there were other rules that where meant to be followed.

Sighing, scratching at his forearm, Jim fell back to sit comfortably in his chair. Pulling at his bag, he plucked his dog eared, _paper_ copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ out from its confines, and cracked it open to the marked page. There was no immediate paperwork to be done and thus far, less than five minutes into his shift and nobody had come to him with any questions or complaints. He could settle down to read, he could take a breath, and he could try to forget about the familiar ache that had settled down into his gut since Pike had commed him that morning, telling him to try and _not_ get killed on his birthday.

Wishful thinking on his part; Jim only managed to read two paragraphs more into the misadventures of Holden, and his illustrious cynicism, before a long, dark shadow fell over him, effectively blocking out his light.

Blinking against the sudden change, Jim set his book back down with gentle care on the desk before him before standing. A pleasant, plastic smile formed across his lips as he straightened, and deft fingers pulled at the delicate copy of his book till the edge was aligned with the desk.

There was a Vulcan standing over him, taller than he and broader than he, and there was something sharp to his features. There was a twist to his mouth, a furrow between his brows, and something furious in the line of his shoulders. Trepidation aside, Jim wanted to ask, he wanted to know what was wrong, so he could do his job and fix whatever the problem was before his supervisor caught wind of a complaint, when he spoke in a tone that was rumbling and low, voice smooth and calculated.

"You will never be anything more than a disgrace to your entire species."

Jim blinked hard as the Vulcan spoke, felt his heart drop somewhere around his feet, because he knew those words. They were etched into the skin of his lower ribs, and he knew the pain that they caused, the way that they'd eaten out a hollow in him until there was nothing left to give. Those were his words, the things that were supposed to be sweet, were meant to keep him going and, instead, they had spent his entire life tearing him down.

Lips pressing together, artificial smile falling, Jim took a slow breath, because of _course_ his soulmate was more beautiful than words could ever hope to describe.

Not a single one of his nightmares or scenarios had prepared him for this moment.

"You are absolutely incredible, and anyone would be lucky to have you."

He watched as a stricken expression overcame those chiseled features, watched that full mouth fall open, and he barreled on before anything else could be said.

"If you would like to lodge a complaint, the receptionist at the main checkout desk will be more than happy to log it for you. My name is Jim Kirk, I've only been on shift for… three minutes, so I'm not exactly sure what I've done, but whatever offense I've caused will be dealt with, I can assure you.  If there is nothing else you need, I can only offer my apologies, because I've got paperwork to do."

Struggling to pull that diplomatic smile back onto his lips, Jim's gaze fell away from the beautiful, breathtaking man before him, and he tried to ignore the shaking in his hands as he gathered the paperwork that Gary left scattered everywhere. He couldn’t get a grip on the PADDs though, not at first, and his knuckles cracked against the hard surface of the desk.

He finally got a grip, but it felt like he couldn’t breathe, and there was a familiar, furious, nauseous bubbling in his belly. He grasped the stack of PADDs in his hands, white knuckled and aching, and didn’t spare the Vulcan a second glance. He couldn’t stomach it, couldn’t handle the sight of him, and instead, Jim took a seething breath through his teeth and skirted around the research desk to flee between the stacks.

If he left the Vulcan, his _soulmate_ , standing alone at the research desk, well…

That was his own prerogative.

-

He knew, by now, how to avoid the crowd.

Two years on campus, two birthdays spent with his head down and two memorial services effectively dodged, he was more than adequately skilled at skirting past people when he didn’t want to see them. A quick word to his supervisor, a half-hearted muttering that he didn’t feel well, and Jim had careened out of the library in record time. Just as quickly, he had made it off of campus, careful to side step the quad and the inevitable crush of people who had gathered for the memorial, same as they did every year.

It felt like he didn’t breathe until the door to his shared apartment clicked shut behind him, and the silence settled on his skin.

Bones was still out, his shoes missing from the little hallway that separated the door from the living room, and his jacket was absent from its hook. That explained the quiet, the blissful, blessed quiet, and Jim sighed, scrubbed his hands over his face. He didn’t want to be alone, not really, not when he could feel a hollow thrumming of anxiety in his blood, but alone was good, alone was safe.

He didn’t think he could take somebody talking to him right now, somebody _caring_ when the person who was supposed to, who should have, obviously thought so little of him.

On heavy feet, he trudged away from the entryway. His body ached with the force that he used to hold himself together, the strings that he had laced through his ribs and the anger that he had used to steel himself. Now, safe within the confines of his apartment, the feeling of sanctuary settled over him.

There was a surge of emotion in his chest, something sharp and biting, and Jim frowned. Hands slipping from his face, there was a falter in his steps, only a few paces from the door.  Blinking owlishly, eyes narrowing, there was a force to that feeling, and a guttural, garbled sound spilled from his lips. Gut punched and harsh, eyes pressed shut tight, the sound was born of frustration, of an animalistic sort of need, and he threw a fist to the wall beside himself. It was difficult to discern if the motion was for support or relief, but the second hit was for neither, and came from a festering feeling fueled by a pain nearly two decades old.

Those fucking words that were branded into his side seemed to burn as he turned his face into the cool of the wall. He braced himself there, used it to hold him upright even as his entire weight fell against the cool surface. Lungs burning, eyes closed and his cheeks peculiarly wet, Jim took a harsh, sucking breath, and then another.

The sound of his heaving and the illusion of privacy that it created was shattered by a crisp, sharp knock on the door.

 _Chris_.

It had to be Chris, it had to be, from the heavy handed thud of the knock to the way it was only one. Chris was the only person who ever announced himself like that.  It was a ‘Fleet thing, a leftover diplomatic cross reference from somewhere in his training. Generally, unless the man had had something to drink, he was painfully polite when announcing himself, trained into him since his own academy days.

Pushing away from the wall, swiping his hands over his face in quick, harsh scrubs, he swayed where he stood. There was no second knock, no further attempt, but he knew better than to keep Chris waiting. He’d probably heard something, one way or another he had found out, because Chris had eyes everywhere, knew everything.

Shaking his head, pulling open the door with a click, Jim squinted against the hallway light.

“Dad, you didn’t need to leave the offi-“

_This wasn’t his Dad._

Chris was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a soft smile. He had a perfect regulation comb of dark brown hair, and he had kind blue eyes, and fingers that could never seem to stay still for very long. He was affection, he was exasperation, and he was the kind of man that Jim had wanted to be ever since Chris had pulled him off that shuttle Earthbound from Tarsus and never looked back.

This wasn’t Chris though.

Shoulders broader than his, and at least a head on him in height, the man before him was seemingly larger than life. A harsh cut of dark hair, sharp brows and bottomless eyes, there was something soft by contrast in the full set of his mouth. Still, Jim shied away, because that face would be forever burned into his memory now, and he would recognize those features anywhere.

His face still burned, body still ached from the sudden coil of tension, and Jim turned his head away, quick to try and slip the door closed. Anything to distance himself from the man who stood before him and the heartache that he inevitably caused.

The Vulcan moved forward though, faster than Jim, and pressed himself into the doorway in a manner that was far from polite. Jim reared back, tried to distance himself further still, but there was only so far back he could stumble while still trying to stand his ground. He refused to be intimidated, refused to be crowded or cowed. He was bigger than this, better than that, and he wouldn’t allow that to happen, not when he had come this far in life. He’d gotten used to the prospect of his soulmate hating him, the confirmation didn’t change anything.

“You need to leave.”

His voice was brittle, and Jim grimaced at the sound of it. Still, he squared his shoulders, held his head high, and tried harder to push the door shut. His human build was nothing compared to the superior strength that Vulcans held though, and the effort was futile.

“ _Please_.”

Vulcan’s didn’t say please.

Vulcan’s didn’t say _please_. Vulcan’s didn’t ask for things in such a human manner.

Except evidently _this_ Vulcan did, this man with his dark, human eyes and his full mouth. There was something desperate in his eyes, something dark and wet that Jim recognized from his own reflection in the mirror. There was a soft slackness around his mouth, and there was the smallest of gaps between his front teeth that Jim shouldn’t have found as endearing as he did.

He watched the man’s Adams Apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, his eyes tracking the movement before finding that dark gaze once more. He felt a mess, run through and gutted, hollowed out until there was nothing left within him that he could possibly give. He didn’t know what this man wanted, he didn’t understand what else he could possibly want to say to make this _worse_ than it already was.

But there was something wrecked about him, in the faint quiver that Jim caught in his strong shoulders and the harsh furrow of that brow. He wanted to reach out, wanted to smooth those creases away before they started to hurt, but he just gripped the doorframe tighter and eyed the other man warily.

He didn’t think he had ever seen a Vulcan look uncomfortable before.

"I have never understood the desire to pray, nor the necessity that species have to ask for forgiveness for their actions. Forgiveness is illogical, remorse is of little consequence and there is no logic to an apology. Yet I find that I would fall to my knees for you, I would beg for you to allow me to begin again, and I ask for forgiveness for the first time in my life. I have caused you an inexcusable grievance, and I find that I...I fear that I will never be permitted to make this right."

The voice that spoke to him was smooth, soft and faintly accented by something that he wasn’t familiar with. There was an inflection there, barely heard and delicate, and he clung a little more to the doorframe that half-hid him. Because that nuance, that no doubt miniscule regional difference, it made him real, it made him seem more human. Jim couldn’t handle him being human, being relatable, and worse, he couldn’t handle the words coming out of that mouth.

“I have caused you irrevocable harm with my callous words, and I have done nothing to cherish you like the gift that you a-“

He couldn’t take this.

Couldn’t take it, couldn’t hear this, and so Jim shot out, clamped his hand across that full mouth just to get him to stop.

The Vulcan froze, brows climbing high upon his forehead until they threatened to disappear beneath his windswept bangs. His mouth stopped moving, and Jim watched as those dark eyes shut quickly. There was a rigid, rising set to his shoulders, and Jim stood transfixed as the other man lifted a tentative hand to catch Jim’s wrist.

His touch was careful, as if afraid of hurting him, and Jim went easily as his hand was pulled back. The man’s voice wavered when he spoke like it hadn’t before, and that was an emotion on his face, raw and ruined and so broken to look upon.

“I have committed a grave crime against you, to cause you such undue pain.”

He closed his eyes, turned his head away, but the grip on him was gentle. Careful, more carefully than Jim thought anyone had ever handled him before, the other man pulled him forward. There was no fight left in him, for he was tired all the way down to his blood and his bones, and he went easily. With gentle movements he was gathered into those black clothed arms, held against the others chest like he belonged there.

The embrace was strange, nothing he had been prepared for, and Jim didn’t know what to do with his hands. They hung limply at his sides, but that didn’t seem to matter much to the Vulcan that only pulled him closer until it felt like there was no space left between them.

“I have questions.”

The words were gusted softly against the top of his head, making a bit of his hair stand on end, and he felt the movement of a mouth against his skin. He shivered at the sensation, and fought the urge to lick his lips.

“O-okay.”

He didn’t know what else he could do other than agree, but that seemed good enough for the man who held him. Those were fingers on the back of his head, carefully carding through his blond hair.

“I do not understand the decision to give me such kind words when the ones I have given you are far from acceptable.”

Jim huffed, forced himself to get used to the fact that he was being _cradled_ in his own doorway. Any of his neighbors could step out and see this, and the gossip would carry on for days. There would be no living this down, not until he did something else to humiliate himself.

Hands hovering in the air for a moment, he hesitated before letting them settle on the Vulcan’s hips, just for something to hold.

“Words can hurt,” His voice rang thick, curled tight in his throat and laced with the pain of experience. “So I make it a point to be kind, if I can.”

He shrugged, a wriggling motion that was restricted by the Vulcan’s arms, and Jim sighed.

He was being _hugged_ by a _Vulcan_.

Silence fell over them, and he could feel the thrumming of a heart against his side. Strange, it was alien and different, but for some reason it was comforting all the same. The embrace shifted then, and that-that was a mouth against his forehead, that was a _kiss_.

“My name is Spock. I have erred greatly, and although I do not deserve it, I ask for the chance to show you how perfect I find you.”

Oh.

He hadn’t expected this turn of events, and Jim clenched his fists tight at the fabric beneath his palms.

 _Spock_.

“I think I would like that.”

“I will endeavor to not disappoint.”


End file.
